


Grow

by Iknowthebattle



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF, Harry Styles - Fandom
Genre: Bisexual Male Character, Coffee Shops, Los Angeles, M/M, Queer Character, Treat you like a gentleman, strong coffee and unbrushed curls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-12
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-08-22 18:43:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16603472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iknowthebattle/pseuds/Iknowthebattle
Summary: This request came from a sweet anon;After the i-D interview, Harry getting Timmy to have a coffee with him, but Timmy is completely oblivious that it in fact is a date.Coffee and cute boys flirting? I'm there. X**Please note this takes place outside of the Regent world since this is the first time H/T meet.***Sending love to all the humans and animals in Malibu and all those in Southern CA affected by the fires.





	Grow

Tim wasn’t sure what to think about it, how he did. It had all gone by so fast, he wasn’t sure it had actually happened, if it was even real. 

He bit his thumbnail, going over the answers he had given, all the things he had said aloud, in his head now. 

He perched his phone on a chair in front of his hotel bed where he sat with his elbows on his knees, letting his hands, his wrists hang down between. He plugged in his thin, white ear buds and popped them in, making sure the microphone wasn’t twisted or too far from his mouth.

Harry had called him, a Los Angeles area code popping up on his phone, giving Tim momentary pause. He knew those numbers, would know those numbers anywhere. It’s funny what stuck around, what never left. 

Tim hadn’t been nervous, that was the thing. This had been his idea, his suggestion; his request. Of all the people he could have asked, _(Cudi? Ansel? Greta or Saiorse? Armie?),_ he had chosen someone he only knew from afar and even then, on the surface, to those not paying attention, he didn’t know him at all.

But like attracts like; Tim saw something in one boy he saw in himself.

Some would probably call it admiration, but once Tim got his teeth into something or someone, he rarely let go. He held on for dear life, obsessing, watching over and over again, interviews, clips and movies, listening over and over again to songs, beats, certain lyrics played again and again until the rest of the track ceased to exist or matter.

It was obsession, even if it all started with random and genuine curiosity. Soon it was love. That’s the only way Tim how knew to be.  

He had been cool when he put the request in to have Harry interview him, cool when he was given the date it would take place. He was only nervous just before the phone rang. He was like that when he was on stage too, no nerves until three seconds before he was to go on.

Harry’s voice had been lower than he expected though he had heard it dozens of times through headphones, on a laptop, on his phone turned sideways in bed or huddled up against a plane seat.

But still, it seemed surreal as fuck to hear his voice through headphones; this time directed solely his way.

_Mr. Chalamet…._

Tim had been caught off guard, but pleased, delighted with the greeting and he returned it gladly.

_Mr. Styles…_

It felt fancy, a little odd, sassy and chill all at the same time. Tim dug it and Harry dived right in.

Now he sat there, the call ended, holding the phone in his hand, still wearing his ear buds when a text popped up from a number that he had forgotten to save.

He typed in his password, slid open the screen, looking down with a smile, wider on one side than the other.

 _Next time you’re in town?_ Then the coffee (tea? Tim was never sure which it was supposed to be) emoji.  

Tim had put the tip of the phone in his grinning mouth, pushing the plastic against light pink gums and the tops of his teeth before typing his obvious response.

_Of course! I’ll hit you up._

He could see Harry typing, imagined him laughing a little.

 _I’ll bring the flowers_ and a series of floral emoji’s.

This time Tim saved the number, simply under **_H_.**

~~~

Getting coffee in Los Angeles always felt like an effort for Tim. You either had to pick a location where you already were and could walk to hoping the line wasn’t long and the coffee was strong, or you had to make an effort to find a place, park, get out and go in. Even worse, sometimes you had to drive up and speak into a faceless speaker to request something you should have just made at home.

It was hard to make it part of his morning, his daily routine in LA, not as easy as it was in New York. Everything would always be compared to New York in his mind, in his heart, that’s just the way it was.

When asked in their second and just as brief text exchange, Harry had been here for months, writing and recording he’d said.

_Can I hear some of it?_

_Save something for the in-person meet and greet_ , he had only partially joked in response.

Tim got it. He was a texter, a lover of memes, of random videos and viral entertainment that he gladly annoyed everyone in his life with, but not Harry. Harry was rarely anywhere he didn’t want to be, every second counting; every moment mattering.

He was standing outside the coffee shop when Tim pulled up in a rental car. It still had the plastic tag hanging from the rear view mirror.

 Harry was holding a book, sunglasses firmly in place; the smallest pony tail pulling back his hair. He looked as if LA, New York and working class England had coughed up a misplaced love child and for a split second Tim envied his ability to be this mix, no clear origin at least in this moment.

But then, really, he wanted only to be known as a product of where he came from. He just wanted to be good at hiding.

Tim waved when we got up and out of the driver's side, closing the door with one hand, twirling the keys around one finger as he stepped up on the make shift sidewalk, one shoe lace undone.

Harry was smiling, waving in return with the hand holding the book.

A hug came fast and easy, Harry’s arms outstretched and grabbing Tim around the middle, nearly lifting him off the ground. Tim having no place to go but around Harry’s shoulders did so where he started with a pat on and then between his shoulder blades and then a tighter squeeze when Harry didn’t let go.

Harry laughed into his crook his neck and Tim returned the sound, his chin on Harry’s shoulder.

He pulled away, looked Tim up and down.

“I can’t believe you drove here,” Harry had no filter; he just jumped right into the flow of things, no matter how awkward or ill-timed his words may be. But this was perfect, it was just what Tim needed, exactly what he wanted.

Tim shrugged, doing his best to be casual even though he had gotten lost twice and turned off onto the wrong exit before finding the address Harry sent him. He had left over an hour early to allow himself time and had just barely made it.

“It wasn’t so bad.”

Harry laughed, turning towards the door, looking over his shoulder.

“Yes it was.”

They both reached for the handle on the door, but Harry got there first, opening it all the way for Tim. He motioned for Tim to go first, his rings and book, tattooed wrist guiding the way.

Tim nodded; shy all of a sudden, murmured _thanks_ and walked in, hands in pockets looking up at the massive chalk board full of iced coffees in colors of pink, blue and yellow chalk, written with perfect hand-writing.

Harry was at his side now, biting his lip, looking at the options, even though Tim was sure he knew what was going to get.

“This must be your place,” Tim said nodding up at the chalkboard Harry was already looking at.

Harry nodded. He still had his sunglasses on. Tim’s were hanging from the collar of his white, thread bare t-shirt.

“It is, yeah.”

Tim didn’t ask why, he assumed it was because he was left alone. Though later there would be photos of the two of them coming and going, at least inside they were hidden, just another pair of customers without their hair brushed, sleep still in their eyes.

Tim clicked his tongue, overwhelmed by the choices, by the space inside. Most coffee shops in New York, at least the ones he frequented, were tiny and cramped, with the option of 3-4 different coffees, most bitter and in little blue and white cups, and way cheaper than Starbucks.

But this was local for LA and it was Harry’s place so Tim liked it already.

Harry shuffled up the counter, saying hello to everyone, the cashier, the person hanging out by the espresso machine, even someone putting out fresh pastries before pointing up at one of the boards, and ordering what Tim guessed was his usual.  

He looked back and nodded at Tim to order whenever he was ready.

Tim walked up, digging in his back pocket for his wallet, and Harry swatted his hand away, his fingers grazing Tim’s hand, the top of his thigh, staying longer than necessary, patting his side where his waist drew in and away from his hip bones.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Buying myself a coffee?”

Harry shook his head, looked at the cashier as if she were in on the joke, but she simply smiled, looking back and forth between the two of them waiting for them to hurry up and decide.

“This one’s on me.”

Tim nodded, stepping up to order whatever drink looked easiest and would take the least amount of time to make.

He watched Harry pay with cash, shoving a wad of left over bills and change into their glass tip jar which was decorated with photos of Beyoncé cut out from a magazine.

Tim followed his lead as they stood and waited for their drinks to be made. His fingers itched to get inside his pocket to check his phone, but Harry didn’t seem bothered. He flipped the pages of his book with his thumb, watching the baristas with intense interest.

Tim wondered if they should be talking, but the drinks were ready and when Tim reached for his, Harry elbowed him out of the way like a gentle bully in the school lunch line, grabbing both iced coffees and headed out a side door.

“Where are you going?” Tim couldn’t help but ask. There was lightness, an excitement to his voice and it was just fucking coffee.

“ _We_ are going upstairs.”

Harry jogged up what looked like a hidden staircase to nowhere, and pushed open the door at the top with his hip. By now Tim knew he was expected to walk in first and he did, out into brilliant LA sunlight, a tiny roof top deck with a scattering of yellow tables and chairs and bright green potted plants.

It was empty, except for the two of them, Tim holding onto his hair as it would fly away, Harry walking over to a table under a yellow and white striped umbrella and putting down their drinks.

Tim followed and Harry was still standing, waiting.

Tim moved to a chair and there was Harry, pulling it out from under the table, turning it slightly sideways so Tim could sit down.

Tim actually had to laugh.

“You don’t have to do all of this, man.”

But Harry was quiet and Tim sat down, pulling his coffee closer to him, taking a long sip from the straw Harry had put through the opening at the top.

Harry sat now too, scooting his chair in closer to the table, closer to Tim’s side.

“I know I don’t. I want to.”

Tim swallowed, a certain twisted, winding sensation working its way through his rib cage and chest. He had boys treat him like this before, or so he thought. He had always been wrong.

Tim watched as he tossed his book on the table and crossed his legs, looking over the edge of the roof at some of the LA skyline which was mostly blue, cloudless sky.

Tim kept drinking until half of his coffee was gone, following Harry’s gaze. He knew he would be wired and bouncy soon. He motioned around them.

“Did you reserve this or something?”

Harry shook his head, hands crossed lazily over the top of his knee.

“No one knows this is up ‘ere.”

Tim nodded, not sure if he really believed that but he decided it didn’t matter.

Tim reached over, took the book from where it sat in front of Harry and started flipping through the first few pages.

“Susan Sontag…” Tim said under his breath, turning it over in his hands. Pauline had read some of her stuff. She had gotten into arguments with their Dad over her more than once.

“Heyyyyyy…..give that back.”

Harry gently took it back from Tim’s thin, interested fingers.

“’S got something in there for you,” Harry was looking down at the book now, carefully opening it to the last page, and pulling out a flattened red and curled up rose, its leaves and shortened stem below still intact.

Tim smiled, cocking his head to one side.

“I told you I would bring the flowers, didn’t I?”

Tim gave a long, slow nod.

“Yes, yes you did.”  Tim felt himself blushing, hoping the heat could be blamed.

Harry studied the dried rose for another second before handing it over to Tim slowly between his thumb and pointer finger.

“Well, now you know I’m a man of my word.”

Tim took the flower between his own fingers, bringing it close to his face before placing it behind his right ear once he was sure there were no thorns.

By the way Harry laughed, Tim knew he approved.

“Now you’re on board.”  

Harry pushed his sunglasses up onto the top of his head and looked at the burst of red snuggled into the soft brown curls as if it were growing out of Tim’s head, a flower in rich, deep soil.

“It’s so you,” Harry said without a hint of teasing or making fun in his voice. Tim looked at him, finally seeing his eyes, specks of blue and brown in green squinting against haze and sun. He was tan.

Tim finished his coffee, careful not to disturb the rose by keeping his head as still as he could while he and Harry talked, falling into conversation like well worn, deeply loved clothing.

They fit together, laughter and cursing, talking quiet and then rushing to finish one another’s thoughts loudly, a beat between some things that needed extra space, words that took up an entire universe instead of a simple breath or two.

Harry hopped up during a break in conversation, a sudden burst of energy from coffee, from their words and walked to peer over the edge of the roof.

“It’s no New York!” he called back to Tim who got up and followed, standing beside him, all his weight on one foot.

“See that building there?” Harry was pointing, his hand resting softly on Tim’s lower back.

It felt so natural Tim barely noticed, didn’t question it. He shifted, letting more  of his body fall into the touch, sliding over a step or two pretending it was to see what Harry was pointing at, some building that was the first place he ever visited in LA.

It was hard for Tim to listen, to focus, harder still when Harry began to rub the spot between either side of his spine, smoothing over bone and muscle with his fingers, eventually tucking his thumb into the back pocket of Tim’s black jeans.

This was something Tim had always done with girls, tucking his hand into the back pocket of their too-tight jeans as they walked. It used to make him hard when he was in High School.

 It made him hard now, being on the other side, the one touched, the one feeling guarded, protected with such a silly, simple gesture.

When he had imagined himself with other boys, it was often about a very specific boy he had been crushing on. They could have known one another a day or years, but it was always exactly how he wanted it to be in his head; the two of them would be walking around New York together, getting cheap Chinese food, watered down rum and cokes, seeing a show (bad or good, sometimes bad was better) and hanging out with his friends.

He never imaged a sunny, deserted LA roof top with someone, _this_ someone, their hand now fully in his pocket, standing hip to hip, their muscles buzzing from caffeine and lack of sleep, the dirty, heavy wind blowing their curls that were doing their best to grow.

**Author's Note:**

> Iknowthebattle on Tumblr--come scream at me about Harry, Timmy and any femme&fancy boy you love. X


End file.
